Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Maybe I will go again tomorrow,

Well the music there well it was hauntingly familiar,

When I see you doin what I try to do for me.

With the words of a poet and a voice from a choir

And a melody

And nothing else mattered…”

Lydia woke up in the back seat of a van.

She was groggy and her mouth was dry, like "chewing-on-cotton-balls-in-the-Sahara" dry. Somewhere up front, Stevie Nicks was singing her heart out, but even the goddess of rock couldn’t drown out the full-volume shrieking echoing through the vehicle. It sounded like a pack of banshees were in the middle of an exorcism.

She groaned and rubbed the crust out of her eyes, praying this was a nightmare.

Where the fuck was she?

Susie was there. Of course. If Lydia was ever found dead due to mysterious circumstances, everyone would immediately look to Susie Toot, not because she was guilty, but because she was always there. Like glitter. Or mould.

But then… wait.

Was that Jewels Sparkles?
Yes. The very same glitter-drenched drama queen Lydia vaguely remembered from high school. They hadn’t exactly been enemies, but Jewels hadn’t even given Lydia the time to prove that she was, in fact, a cunt.

And now she was up front, howling lyrics with the enthusiasm of someone who thinks karaoke is a spiritual experience. Right beside her were the rest of her evil cheerleader coven: Sam, Lana, Crystal, and, of course, the Queen bitch herself.

Kori King.

The Regina George of this B-list horror show. The kind of girl who’d compliment your outfit and then convince you to change because “it might be a little too brave.”
Lydia sank lower into the seat, praying for death. Or at least for the aux cord.

Was Lydia being kidnapped?

Her head throbbed like a bass drum and her brain felt like scrambled eggs, overcooked and underseasoned. She couldn’t remember a single thing from the night before, let alone how she ended up in the back of a moving van with a bunch of girls she hadn’t spoken to since high school. Evil girls. Glittery, lipglossed demons.

Her only consolation, if you could call it that, was that her safe person was here too. Susie. Unless she had also been kidnapped. In which case, this was just a double homicide waiting to happen.

Lydia had questions. A lot of them. Unfortunately, her mouth wasn’t taking requests right now. Her vocal cords were on strike. Thankfully, her knight in shining denim noticed her stirring.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Susie chirped over the music.

That cheerful announcement drew attention from the rest of the van. Suddenly, Lydia was surrounded by a dozen judgey stares; mascara-laden, passive aggressive, and immediately triggering high school PTSD.
She had officially woken up in hell. And hell wore fake tan and acrylics.

She blinked, trying to piece together the fragments of her brain that hadn’t been deep fried.

“Where… the hell are we?” she rasped, voice scratchy like she'd gargled gravel.

“We’re almost there!” Susie beamed, like this was good news. “Camp Shady Boots, baby!”

Lydia squinted at her. “Camp what?”

Susie grinned wider. “You know. The girls’ summer camp? We signed up to be counsellors, remember?”

Lydia stared at her, stunned into silence. She did not remember. Not even a little. The only "camp" she had ever signed up for involved binge-watching horror movies in Susie’s basement with blackout curtains and discount wine. She could recite every scene from Sleepaway Camp, but she had no interest in nature, children, or anything involving mosquitoes and friendship bracelets. Absolutely not. There is absolutely no way she was getting a curling iron shoved up her cooch.

Her eyes darted around the van, scanning for clues. Matching duffel bags. A suspicious number of rolled-up sleeping bags. Someone was eating Cheetos. The air reeked of strawberry body spray, sunscreen, and oestrogen fuelled chaos.

This was either a very aggressive road trip or the first five minutes of a slasher movie.
Her stomach dropped.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “This is Friday the 13th. This is literally how Friday the 13th starts.”

Jewels Sparkles turned from the front seat. “What?”

Lydia snapped out of it. “Nothing. Just... talking to God. And he’s really concerned.”
The girls up front laughed like it was a joke, but Lydia wasn’t joking. Not even a little. In horror movie terms, she was the quirky, sarcastic alt girl who knew all the tropes and died second-to-last with a killer one-liner.

Susie was the wildcard… Could live, could die, could turn out to be the killer. And the rest of them? Canon fodder in matching bikinis.

The van hit a bump, and Lydia smacked her head against the window. The world outside blurred past in green and gold flashes, endless trees and winding roads. No signs. No cell towers. No civilization.
She subtly reached for her phone.

No bars.

Of course not.

She opened the camera app just to check the time, only to realize her lock screen photo of Baby Gronk had been replaced with a grainy picture of a Lisa Frank unicorn.
“What the f—”

“Hey, Lydia.” A voice cut through her panic.
She looked up.

It was Kori.

Kori King.

The girl who exclusively called her Marilyn Manson during their entire senior year.

And she was smiling at her.

Like, warmly.

“I saved you a grape soda,” Kori said, holding one out.

Lydia blinked at the can like it was laced with cyanide. It was some off brand thing with a label that looked like it hadn’t been redesigned since Reagan was in office. She hesitated, confused.

“Uh… Thanks?”

Kori just nodded, satisfied, and turned back around.

Lydia gawked at Susie. “Okay, what the hell is happening?”

Susie shrugged. “I told you, people grow up. She’s changed.”

“People like Kori don’t change,” Lydia hissed. “They rebrand. Usually right before launching a podcast or joining a cult.”

She cracked open the soda and took a cautious sip. It tasted like purple-flavoured lies.

The van crested a hill, and suddenly the trees parted, revealing a massive lake and a collection of old wooden cabins nestled around its edge. A chipped sign came into view

CAMP SHADY BOOTS
 Where Girls Become Women 
Est. 1974

Lydia stared at it.

“Okay. Is this a prank?”

No one answered her. Not because they didn’t hear, but because they were all too busy singing along to Bananarama’s “Cruel Summer.”

She looked at the van’s radio display.

It didn’t have one.

Just a cassette deck.

Her eye twitched.

Lydia was definitely getting fucking murdered here.

Chapter Text

Lydia didn’t want to go.

She made that extremely clear by announcing it no less than eleven times between the front door and Susie’s car.

“We literally hate these girls.”

“You owe me an emotional support wine slushie.”

“I swear to God, if they’re playing Bring It On, I’m slashing someone’s tires.”

Susie ignored every protest with the exact same tactic she’d been using since freshman year: relentless optimism and an unflinching grip on Lydia’s wrist.

“Jewels is actually being cool,” she insisted, fiddling with the aux cable. “Like, she DM’d me first. Said she always thought I was funny. Can you believe that? Funny. Not weird.”

“That’s worse,” Lydia muttered. “Funny is how people describe raccoons in hats.”

Susie grinned, victorious. “You’re here, though.”

“Under duress.”

The movie night was being hosted at Sam’s place, one of those new condos with the kind of minimalist aesthetic that screamed wealthy parents, zero personality. Everything was beige. Beige couch. Beige rug. Beige girls in matching crop tops.

Lydia made a beeline for the bathroom the second they walked in- partly because she’d chugged a Diet Coke on the drive over, partly because she needed a minute to mentally armour up before subjecting herself to an entire evening of forced nostalgia and cheerleaders.

When Lydia finally made it out of the bathroom and into the living room, she clocked Jewels immediately. She was curled up on the floor with a blanket, legs draped casually over Susie’s lap like it was no big deal. Like she hadn’t spent four years pretending Susie didn’t exist unless it was to copy her art homework.

Lydia squinted suspiciously. “Are you… cuddling?”

Susie turned bright red. “Shut up.”

“No, seriously, blink twice if she’s holding you hostage.”

Jewels looked up and smiled. “Hey, Lydia. There’s wine coolers in the fridge if you want.”

Lydia stared at her like she’d grown a second head. “Are they poisoned?”

More laughter. More fake politeness. More flashbacks to high school trauma wrapped in pink lip gloss and passive aggression. Lydia wanted to leave five minutes in but ended up getting trapped between the couch and Crystal’s enormous bean bag chair. By the time someone hit play (Friday the 13th, because of course), it was too late to fake an emergency.

So she cracked open a wine cooler and waited for the night to implode.

*

An hour in, Lydia felt someone sit beside her. Not like the casual flop of a friend or the aggressive sprawl of a drunk girl. No, this was delicate. Intentional. The type of care you’d take approaching a wild animal.

She turned.

Kori.

Kori King, in oversized sweats and a hoodie pulled halfway over her head like she was a celebrity hiding from the paparazzi. She looked less like a Mean Girl and more like someone trying to be invisible. Except, of course, it was impossible not to notice her. That was the problem with Kori. She always glowed. Even when she didn’t mean to.

“I thought you hated horror movies,” Lydia said without thinking.

Kori glanced at the screen. “I do.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why are you here?”

Lydia tilted her head. “Emotional hostage situation. You?”

Kori hesitated. “I live here.”

Oh. Right.

They sat in silence for a while, the screen flickering with screams and bad 80s lighting. Lydia risked a glance and caught Kori watching her. Not in a creepy way, just… observing. Like she was trying to solve a puzzle.

“You cut your hair,” Kori said quietly.

Lydia blinked. “Yeah. Like, a year ago.”

Kori looked away. “It looks good. I mean, I’m not usually one for a fuck ass bob but, you actually make it work.”

Lydia felt a strange flutter in her chest. She blamed the wine cooler.

“That was almost nice,” she said, lips twitching.

“Don’t get used to it.”

A few more minutes passed. Someone screamed onscreen, and a cheerleader in the made a disgusted sound. Lydia sipped her drink.

“You ever think about it?” Kori asked suddenly.

Lydia glanced over. “Think about what?”

“This,” Kori gestured vaguely. “All of it. High school. The weird… mythology of it. Like, how it kind of ruined everyone.”

Lydia laughed. “Didn’t expect you to go full Euphoria on me tonight.”

“I’m serious,” Kori said. “It’s like… we were these characters, right? And we all just kept playing the roles.”

Lydia’s smile faded. She looked at Kori properly now. She saw the cracks, the nervous energy. Like maybe this was a question she’d been holding onto for years.

“You mean you played a role,” Lydia said. “Some of us were just extras in your story.” She also hesitated to say that she had always been 100% true to herself. She decided against it seeing as current company had never struck her as ‘authentic’.

Kori flinched. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Lydia leaned forward. “You made high school hell for me. For Susie. For anyone who didn’t fit into your aesthetic. But now what, you’re tolerating me because you’ve all finally realised Susie is cool?”

Kori’s expression hardened. “I’m trying, okay?”

“Yeah, well. Try harder.”

The room felt suddenly colder. The movie still played, but Lydia couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in her ears.

Kori stood. “I thought maybe… Never mind.”

Lydia opened her mouth, but Kori was already walking away.

*

Later, long after the movie ended and the cheerleaders had descended into selfie-taking and making TikTok dances, Lydia wandered into the kitchen.

It was quieter here. Dim. Just the hum of the fridge and the occasional muffled shriek of laughter from the living room. The air smelled faintly of microwave popcorn and somebody’s overly sweet perfume.

She leaned against the counter, tracing the edge of a wine cooler label with her thumb. It had started peeling halfway through the movie, and now she couldn’t stop. Like if she stripped it all away, maybe she’d find something better underneath. Something worth keeping.

Her reflection in the dark kitchen window stared back at her, and she hated it. Not the face exactly, though she could pick apart every flaw if she let herself, but the expression. Guarded. Defensive. That’s what Kori King did to her. Still. After all these years. Even through her 10 pounds of makeup.

She told herself she didn’t care. That she’d moved on. That high school Lydia had died in a blaze of eyeliner and bad short films the day she graduated. But then Kori had to go and sit next to her like that. Close enough for Lydia to smell the faint citrus of her shampoo. Close enough for her to remember, against her will l, the one time Kori had smiled at her in sophomore year, sunlight in her hair like something out of a movie.

It was pathetic. Lydia knew that. You weren’t supposed to nurse a crush on someone who once called you “the Hot Topic Clearance Bin” in front of half the cafeteria.

But she couldn’t help it. Kori was hot and Lydia was potentially into negging.

She was still thinking about the way Kori had looked at her, really looked, when she heard footsteps.

She didn’t turn around.

“Thought you’d bailed,” Kori’s voice said softly from the doorway.

Lydia’s chest tightened. She forced her tone into something flat, casual. “Tempting.”

Kori stepped into the kitchen, her shadow stretching across the tile. “You’re not easy to talk to, you know.”

“Good. Means I’m doing it right.”

There was a pause. Then, “I meant it. About your hair.”

Lydia laughed once, bitter. “Wow. Validation from Kori King. Guess I can die happy now.”

“Why do you do that?” Kori asked, and there was something raw in her voice. Not defensive. Not mocking. Just… tired.

“Do what?”

“Act like you’re untouchable. Like nothing gets to you.”

Lydia finally turned. Kori was leaning against the doorframe, hoodie sleeves pushed up to her elbows, eyes locked on her like she was a problem that could be solved.

And for one dizzy second, Lydia wanted to tell her everything. The truth. The way she’d memorized the exact shade of brown in Kori’s eyes years ago. The way every cutting remark in high school had hurt because it came from her.

Instead, Lydia smirked. “Because it’s easier than letting you see that it does.”

Kori’s gaze softened. Just barely.

Lydia looked away before Kori could read anything else on her face. She tossed the empty wine cooler in the trash and brushed past her, the smell of citrus chasing her into the living room.

She didn’t look back.

But she wanted to.

Chapter Text

Lydia had three rules for surviving a slasher movie.

Rule One: Don’t split up. Ever. Not even to pee.

Rule Two: Don’t investigate weird noises. But if you absolutely have to, bring a weapon, a witness, and at least one backup witness. In addition, Never, ever call out, “Who’s there?” Because the answer was always “The murderer, sweetie.”

Rule Three: Never ever under any circumstances have sex. This one, Lydia had thought, wouldn’t have been as much of a problem for her virgin ass than what it has ended up being.

She was silently reciting these rules while pressed against the inside of a cabin closet, holding her breath so hard her ribs ached. Somewhere outside, in the corridor, someone was dying. Not movie dying, not the dramatic, sighing collapse of a Final Girl’s best friend, but the wet, messy, horrible kind.

A body hit the floorboards with a thud. Lydia bit down on her sleeve to keep from making a sound.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She wasn’t entirely sure because her phone was dead and the camp’s only clock was one of those kitschy owl-shaped wall things with a tail that ticked back and forth like it was mocking her.

When the hallway finally went quiet, she dared to exhale.

*

The cabins were smaller than she remembered from childhood summer camp movies, more like oversized tool sheds with bunk beds. And thanks to some cruel twist of fate, Lydia had been assigned to share with Sam. Only Sam.

Sam. The meanest of the Mean Girls. Queen of weaponized compliments. Architect of the rumour that Lydia had been expelled for “emo arson.”

Lydia had been fully prepared to grit her teeth, unpack her stuff, and spend the summer mentally replaying every cutting thing Sam had ever said to her.

Except… this Sam wasn’t the same.

“Oh my god, yay!” Sam beamed from her bunk, sitting cross-legged like a Pinterest vision of summer. “I made you a little welcome basket.”

She pointed to the bed across from her. A wicker basket sat on the pillow, filled with snacks, bug spray, a mini flashlight and, bizarrely, a lavender eye mask.

Lydia froze mid-step. “What’s this?”

“For you!” Sam said brightly. “I just thought, you know, new place, new faces, it can be overwhelming. I’m here for you.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “…Who are you and what have you done with Sam?”

Sam giggled. “You’re so funny. Seriously, if there’s anything you need, just ask. I’m trying to be more mindful this year.”

Mindful.

Lydia didn’t trust it for a second. This wasn’t Sam. This was lobotomy Sam, smiling, aggressively nice and therefore twice as dangerous.

“Cool,” Lydia muttered, tossing her duffel on the bed.

Sam just laughed again, like Lydia had just told an incredibly witty joke.

The girl was terrifying.

*

By nightfall, Lydia had mostly unpacked. She’d hung her black hoodies in passive-aggressive defiance of the camp’s pastel aesthetic and stacked her paperback horror novels on the little shelf by her bed. She didn’t remember packing them, obviously. But she had finally resigned herself to the fact that this weird reality was just her life now.

She was in the middle of trying to decide whether to brush her teeth or just surrender to summer camp halitosis when she heard it.

A sound from outside.

It wasn’t the casual, friendly noise of the other early arrival counsellors gossiping by the lake or someone dropping their vape on the porch. This was softer. Slower. Deliberate.

Footsteps.

Her stomach flipped.

Rule Two. Don’t investigate weird noises. And never, ever say

“Who’s there?” she whispered before her brain could stop her

Nice one, idiot.

She grabbed the nearest “weapon” (a travel-size bottle of Febreze) and crept toward the door, telling herself that if this was the killer, maybe the lemon scented spray would sting their eyes long enough for her to run.

The footsteps stopped.

She opened the door a crack, peering out into the cool night air. The camp was bathed in silvery moonlight, the lake glinting in the distance. The cabins stood like quiet little sentinels, shadows pooling in their corners.

“Boo!”

Lydia jumped so hard she nearly hosed herself down with the Febreze.

Kori King emerged from the porch of a smaller cabin next door, smirking like a cat that had just pounced on a particularly stupid mouse. She was wearing jean shorts and an old camp T-shirt knotted at her hip, hair loose around her shoulders.

“Jesus Christ,” Lydia hissed, clutching her chest. “Are you trying to kill me!”

Kori tilted her head, amused. “You looked like you needed some excitement. Come on, we’re starting a bonfire. Everyone’s coming. We’re gonna get high.” She held out a small baggy and shook it lightly in her hand.

She stepped down from her porch and crossed the space between them slowly, like she was giving Lydia time to chicken out. When she reached her, she brushed a fingertip lightly against Lydia’s wrist. Not enough to be anything more than friendly encouragement.

It was nothing, technically, just a fleeting touch. But it was enough to make Lydia’s pulse slam into overdrive. She was suddenly very aware of her own body. The quick, shallow breaths, the heat blooming up her neck, the way her hands felt too awkward to know what to do with.

Every neuron in Lydia’s brain screamed that this was a bad idea. Rule Zero of surviving a slasher: never, under any circumstances, go to a lakeside party and get baked. That was basically signing your death certificate.

She told herself to step back. To remember the rules. To remember that, in horror movies, girls who went to lakeside parties and got high were basically volunteering for a gruesome death. But Kori’s gaze lingered on her like she could hear every panicked beat of Lydia’s heart.

And God help her, Lydia liked it.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But if I die, I’m haunting you.”

Kori’s smile widened, slow and dangerous. “Promise?”

Kori’s smile lingered in the dark, catching the flicker of a porch light like a secret she wasn’t sharing.

Lydia hated how close she was standing and how much she didn’t want her to move. She could still feel the ghost of that fingertip against her wrist, a single nerve lit up like a live wire. Her heart was beating too fast, the way it did right before the killer burst through the door in every movie she’d ever memorized.

But Kori wasn’t the killer. Kori was worse.

Because even though Lydia knew she should be running scenarios in her head, exit points, improvised weapons, whether she could realistically hide in a canoe, all she could focus on was the warmth radiating off the girl in front of her. The way her shampoo smelled faintly like citrus and smoke. The steady, easy way she seemed to exist, like nothing bad could touch her.

And standing in that thin pocket of safety made Lydia feel even more exposed. Because if she could feel safe here, she could get careless.

And careless girls didn’t survive slashers.

*

The gravel crunched under their sneakers as everyone spilled out of the van in a tangle of duffel bags, hair tosses, and high-pitched laughter. The air smelled like pine and lake water, but to Lydia it reeked of foreshadowing. She was completely on edge.

Before Susie could get swept up in the chaos, Lydia grabbed her by the elbow and yanked her toward the side of the cabin, out of earshot.

“Okay,” Lydia said, voice low but urgent. “What the hell is going on?”

Susie blinked, still smiling like she’d just won a raffle. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lydia hissed, “I wake up in a van full of the High School Plastics, we roll up to a murder set from the seventies, and you’re acting like this is all… normal?”

“Plastics? What the fuck, Queen? It is normal,” Susie said, shrugging. “We’ve been planning this for months.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “We have not. I would remember agreeing to live out my final girl audition tape.”

Susie groaned. “You’re being dramatic. It’s summer camp. It’s fun.”

“And Jewels?” Lydia asked, the name sharper than what she had intended. An accusation. “You and her suddenly all up close and personal?”

Susie’s smile faltered. “Nothing’s going on with Jewels.”

Lydia arched a brow. “Uh-huh.”

“There’s not!” Susie insisted. “She’s just… nice. And it’s all playful here. It’s not like Friday the 13th. No boys, no creepy counsellors—”

“No sex?” Lydia prompted.

“Definitely no sex,” Susie said firmly, like she’d rehearsed the line. “It’s an all girls camp, remember?”

Lydia let her stare linger a second too long, then shook her head. “Yeah. That’s what worries me.”

She didn’t say that in Friday the 13th, the killer was a woman. Or that neither of them had absolutely no interest in sleeping with guys. Why had Susie suddenly forgotten all of this?

From across the camp, Lana called out something about picking bunks. Lydia released Susie’s arm. “Fine. But when someone turns up floating in the lake, I’m saying I told you so.”

Chapter Text

“You’re seriously not going to help?” Susie yelled over her shoulder.

She was knee-deep in the lake, trying to wrangle a canoe toward the little wooden pier. Her hair stuck to her forehead in sweaty strands. She had that determined, slightly manic look she got whenever she was on the edge of snapping but pretending she wasn’t.

Lydia, perched on the dock like a judgmental seagull, didn’t even flinch. Legs crossed. Sunglasses on. Fully committed to not touching the pile of canoe paddles dumped beside her.

“I’m supervising,” Lydia said, tilting her face toward the sun like she was absorbing Vitamin D out of spite.

Kori’s laugh floated over the water, low and rich and far too amused. She was twenty feet out, treading water like it was effortless, hair slicked back so her face caught every scrap of light.

“You’re useless,” she called.

“This isn’t lifeguard duty,” Lydia shot back without moving. “This is unpaid theatre.”

“Then at least enjoy the show,” Kori said, voice carrying easily across the rippling surface.

She swam in a slow, deliberate circle, watching Lydia between strokes. It wasn’t creepy exactly, but it was… deliberate. Like she was waiting for Lydia to react, to look too long, to slip.

Lydia told herself she wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. Which, of course, was why she immediately adjusted her sunglasses just enough to watch as Kori swam in toward the dock.

When Kori’s hands finally caught the edge, she pulled herself up in one smooth movement. Water ran in rivulets down her tanned legs, dripping off her cutoff shorts and into the wood between them. She smelled like lake water and something else — citrus and smoke, maybe. Something warmer.

She didn’t sit. She stayed standing just close enough for Lydia to have to tip her head back if she wanted to meet her eyes.

“You do realise you’re the only one not actually doing anything?” Kori asked.

“I’m doing something,” Lydia said, deadpan. “I’m avoiding heatstroke and potential drowning.”

Kori crouched then, bringing her face level with Lydia’s. A drop of water slid down the curve of her neck and vanished beneath the knot of her faded camp T-shirt.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Lydia said, “here I am.”

For a beat, they just looked at each other. The sound of the lake lapping against the dock filled the space between them.

Susie’s voice broke it. “Lydia! Paddle! Now!”

Lydia turned just in time to see Susie trying to keep the canoe from drifting back out into open water. With an exaggerated sigh, she got to her feet and tossed one of the paddles down.

“You’re welcome,” she muttered.

When she turned back, Kori was watching her again, but her smile was gone. Her expression was unreadable, brows drawn slightly together like she was calculating something.

“You ever been here before?” Kori asked suddenly.

Lydia frowned. “What, this camp?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Why?”

Kori shrugged, but it looked more like she’d just remembered to. “You just… seem like you know it. Like muscle memory.”

Lydia laughed once. “Pretty sure I’d remember this place. It’s a Pinterest board for murder.”

Kori’s lips twitched, but she didn’t answer. Her brows knitted together in thought. She reached for her towel instead, wringing water out of her hair in slow twists. Lydia tried not to stare and failed spectacularly.

Somewhere down the shoreline, Lana and Jewels were arguing about how many marshmallows was “too many” for a s’more. The air smelled faintly of campfire even though nobody had started one yet.

“You staying in Cabin Four?” Kori asked, still casual.

“Cabin Three,” Lydia said. “With Sam.”

Kori made a face that was somewhere between a grimace and a smirk. “Lucky you.”

“She made me a welcome basket,” Lydia said flatly. “There was a lavender eye mask in it.”

“That’s… unsettling,” Kori agreed, leaning back on her hands. “She doesn’t do that.”

“Exactly.”

Kori’s gaze flicked to her then, sharp. “What do you mean?”

“I mean everyone’s acting weird. Sam’s suddenly Miss Congeniality, Jewels is flirting with Susie, Lana hasn’t insulted my shoes once, and you’re…” Lydia trailed off, waving a hand vaguely in Kori’s direction.

“I’m what?”

“Being… not you.”

Kori tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Maybe I am me. You just didn’t know me.”

The words landed heavier than Lydia expected.

Before she could come up with a response, the wind shifted, sending a shiver across the lake. And then, faint but clear, Lydia heard music. Not the tinny, overplayed 80s hits the others blasted from the boombox earlier, but something… wrong.

It was a song she knew.

She blinked, scanning the waterline. No speaker. No phone. The music faded before she could place it.

When she looked back, Kori was watching her again. Not smiling.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“No,” Lydia lied. “Just thought I heard…” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

Kori’s gaze lingered like she didn’t believe her, but she didn’t press. Instead, she stood, rolling her towel over one shoulder.

“You’re coming to the bonfire again tonight,” she said, not asking.

Lydia snorted. “That’s cute. You think I’m signing up for a textbook horror movie death scene.”

Kori’s grin returned, slow and dangerous. “Promise I’ll keep you safe. You survived last night didn’t you?”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “You gonna be my final girl?”

“Maybe,” Kori said, stepping back toward the path.

And then she was gone, leaving Lydia staring at the rippling water, trying to shake the feeling that she’d just been handed a warning disguised as a flirt.

*

The lake was black glass.

Not the romantic, moonlit kind you saw in summer camp brochures, but the kind that looked like it would swallow you whole and keep your bones for trophies.

Lydia’s breath came out in thin, pale ribbons, each one snatched away by the wind. She wasn’t sure when it had gotten this cold. Wasn’t sure how long she’d been out here.

She hadn’t meant to come to the dock. One second she’d been in her bunk, listening to Sam’s steady breathing in the top bed, and the next she’d been halfway down the trail to the lake.

Her socks were somewhere back on the path, abandoned in the dirt like casualties. She’d been running, she could tell from the stitch in her side, but she couldn’t remember what from. Or toward.

Now she stood barefoot, the wood of the dock rough and damp under her feet, toes curling against the chill.

The boathouse door was open. Not cracked, not slightly ajar. Hanging wide, swinging gently back and forth with a soft, rhythmic

thunk…

thunk…

thunk…

against the frame. Each impact carried over the water, too loud in the otherwise smothered quiet.

She knew better than to go closer.
Rule Two: Don’t investigate weird noises.
Rule Two-and-a-Half: Especially not when there’s an obvious murder shed right in front of you.

And yet…

There was someone inside.

Not someone. Kori.

She was sure of it.

A silhouette between the stacked canoes. Tall, lean, head tipped down like she was hiding her face from the moon.

“Kori?” Lydia called, her voice too small. She cleared her throat, tried again. “Kori.”

The figure didn’t move.

A fresh gust of wind came off the water, cutting straight through the thin camp T-shirt she was wearing. Goosebumps rose across her arms. The air smelled wrong. Not the crisp pine and lake water scent she’d started to almost tolerate, but sweeter. Rotten sweet.

She told herself to turn back.

To get Susie.

To wake someone, anyone.

Instead, she took a step forward. The old boards groaned under her bare feet, the sound unnervingly loud in the stillness. The moon’s reflection rippled beside her, warping with every slight movement of the water.

The figure inside the boathouse tilted its head.

Too far.

Too slow.

Something primal in Lydia’s brain recoiled, the way you would at a spider that moved wrong. She stopped walking.

Her mouth was dry. The wind shifted again and, faintly, she heard ticking.

Not here, not from the dock. From somewhere else. Somewhere inside. The deep, steady tick-tock of that kitschy owl clock in the mess hall. The same one whose tail wagged like a pendulum.

Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
Tock.

Her skin prickled. The sound didn’t fade with the wind. If anything, it grew sharper, cutting through the water’s soft lapping, through the low thud of the boathouse door.

“Kori,” she said again, and this time it was less a question than a plea.

The silhouette straightened. Slowly.

Her mind told her to run. Her body… didn’t listen.

She squinted into the darkness. The figure was all outline, no features, but her gut told her it was looking right at her.

The owl clock ticked on.

She took another step. Her foot hit a loose plank and it clattered into the water with a splash that echoed off the trees.

The silhouette flickered. Not like it moved, though. For a split second, Lydia thought she saw something else there: a jagged, tall shape with limbs bending the wrong way, its head a blur of static.

Her stomach lurched. Maybe she had assumed she was in the wrong horror movie. Less Friday the 13th more The Conjuring.

When she blinked, it was gone.

The boathouse was empty. The canoes were shadows stacked neatly against the far wall. The door still swung lazily in the wind, thunk… thunk… thunk.

The ticking had stopped.

Lydia stayed rooted to the dock, staring into the darkness until her eyes ached. She wanted to believe she’d imagined it. That she was sleepwalking. That she was in one of those nightmares where your brain helpfully rehearses the exact scenario that’s about to kill you.

Somewhere behind her, up the path, gravel shifted. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate.

Her head snapped around, but there was no one there.

“Lydia?”

The voice was soft. Familiar. It came from the trees.

Kori’s voice.

But not quite.

*

The dining hall was too bright. The kind of bright that made your eyes water even if you were fully awake. Sunlight poured through tall windows in thick, perfect beams, catching dust motes that seemed to hang there on purpose.

The place smelled like burnt toast and hairspray.

Lydia blinked hard. Her socks were dry. Her feet were warm. No trace of lake water, no stitch in her side.

Susie was across from her, slicing a pancake like it had personally wronged her, rambling about Jewels’ killer outfit for the bonfire tonight. Jewels herself sat two seats down, hair piled in a perfect messy bun, feeding Crystal a forkful of syrup-drenched waffle with the languid intimacy of a woman in a perfume ad.

Behind the serving counter, wearing a rhinestone-encrusted “Camp Shady Boots” apron over a fitted black dress, hair in perfect victory rolls, was Michelle Visage, the camp’s lunch lady.

“Eggs, sausage, or pancakes, baby?” she called to Acacia, the newest counsellor to arrive, with a warmth that suggested she’d been here forever.

Acacia, all wide eyes and perfect blonde braids, giggled nervously and asked for “just toast.”

“Toast is for people who don’t know who they are yet. Come see me tomorrow when you’ve found yourself.”

Lydia stared. “…Okay.”

From somewhere behind her, a coffee pot clinked against a mug.
Five seconds later, the exact same sound. Exactly the same.

She turned her head and caught Arriety, slim, dark hair piled in a scarf, pouring coffee for her table with that same looping arm motion, over and over. Each pour the same length. Each smile identical.

Lydia turned back quickly, heart kicking.

Sam appeared at her elbow, setting down a plate of toast with a flourish. “Grape jelly, just how you like it.”

Lydia frowned. “How I… like it?”

“You have the most mysterious palate,” Sam said, smiling like she knew a joke Lydia didn’t.

“Mysterious?”

Sam just laughed and floated back toward the buffet line, pausing to exchange cheek kisses with Michelle like they were old friends.

*

Kori slid onto the bench beside Lydia, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Lydia jumped.

“Relax,” Kori said, reaching across her for the syrup bottle. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Just… still waking up.”

Kori’s gaze lingered on her face like she was cataloguing every twitch. “Or you had a bad dream.”

Lydia stiffened. “Why would you say that?”

Kori just smiled faintly, pouring syrup in a slow spiral over her pancakes without breaking eye contact. “Guess you’ve got that look.”

Her hand slid onto Lydia’s knee under the table - warm, deliberate - and Lydia’s breath caught before she could stop it.

“Hey,” Kori said softly. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Before Lydia could answer, Lana clapped loudly. “Alright, girlies! Mandatory lake orientation in twenty. Bathing suits, sunscreen, let’s go!”

Chapter Text

The bonfire wasn’t just a fire; it was a living thing. It hissed when someone fed it a damp log and snapped sharp at resin pockets. The circle of logs around it were old enough to be furniture and gossip columns, carved with initials and hearts and a perfectly rendered butt that had to be Crystal’s contribution from a prior summer.

Lydia sat on a log, knees tucked up, trying to look like she’d been born knowing what to do with a s’more. She’d already barbecued 2 marshmallows.

“Third time’s the charm,” Crystal singsonged, offering Lydia a skewer with a single marshmallow like it was a ceremonial dagger.

“Your confidence in me is inspiring,” Lydia said.

“You’re holding the stick like a fencing foil.” Crystal sat, elbows on knees, eyes full of mischief. “This isn’t a duel, it’s dessert.”

“It’s both,” Lydia said. “I’m dueling against the laws of thermodynamics.”

Across the fire, Kori leaned back on her hands, legs stretched out, ankles crossed like she was posing for a camp brochure that would get the brochure banned from PTA meetings. Firelight glanced off the angles of her face. Every time Lydia caught herself looking, Kori’s mouth tilted like she knew.

“Rotate it,” Kori called. “Slow. Don’t hold it in the flames like that. Edge of the heat.”

“Edge of the heat,” Lydia murmured, adjusting. “Feels like a metaphor.”

“It usually is,” Kori said, barely smiling.

Lydia found the sweet spot. The white puff turned beige, then caramel, then that exact shade of toasted perfection. She exhaled slowly, as if exhaling was part of the spell.

“Okay,” Crystal said, impressed against her will. “Fine. You can sit with us.”

“I’ve been sitting here the whole time,” Lydia said, trying to slide the marshmallow off without losing its skin. It stuck for dear life. She made a small, traitorous squeak.

Kori stood, took the stick from Lydia’s hand, and eased the marshmallow onto a waiting graham cracker like it had always wanted to be there. Her fingers brushed Lydia’s knuckles. Warm, quick, gone.

“There,” Kori said, soft and unbearably pleased with herself.

“Thank you,” Lydia said, tragically too earnest.

On the other side of the circle, Susie and Jewels were in their own private universe. Jewels had a smear of chocolate on her chin; Susie reached up without thinking and wiped it away with her thumb, then seemed to realize what she’d done and did that thing where she laughed and looked at anything not named Jewels. Jewels stuck her thumb in her mouth like a cartoon and sucked the chocolate off it. She did it so casually that Lydia had to reexamine her entire moral code.

Sam and Lana were bickering about who had eaten the last good graham cracker like there was any other kind. The bag rustled with the sad sound of crumbs. Lana held it up and shook it. “We live like animals,” she declared to the woods.

“We are animals,” Sam said, laying back to look at the sky. “I’m a Capricorn.”

“That’s a goat,” Crystal said. “You’re a goat.”

“I climb mountains and eat everything.” Sam said serenely.

Lydia’s laughter clipped the edge of the crackle, small and real. For a moment, it was easy, the warmth soaking into her back, the smoke threading her hair, the grass gone cool under her sandals. Somewhere beyond the light, crickets vibrated like a distant electric fence.

Someone (Lana, obviously) produced a small, crinkly baggie from her hoodie pocket and shook it like she was revealing a rare gemstone. Inside was a tight cluster of bud, shockingly green in the firelight.

“Nature’s herbs,” she announced with mock reverence. “Hand selected by yours truly.”

Crystal’s eyes went wide. “Is that…”

“Oregano,” Lana said, face the picture of innocence. “Very, very illegal oregano.”

Sam sat up straighter, already halfway into counsellor mode. “We are literally employed to be responsible adults.”

“We’re camp counsellors,” Lana said, digging out rolling papers from behind her ear like a magician producing a dove. “The only real power we have is whistle privileges.”

Jewels leaned over Susie’s shoulder, her grin illuminated gold by the flames. “I support this vibe.”

“This is peer pressure.” Susie said, trying to sound scandalized and failing miserably.

“It’s not pressure if you want to.” Jewels murmured, her mouth so close to Susie’s ear that Lydia could practically see the shiver ripple down her best friend’s neck.

Crystal grabbed a stick from the ground and pointed it at Lana. “Roll it before Sam calls HR.”

“We are HR,” Lana said. “That’s why I’m not firing myself.”

The whole process took place like a campfire ceremony, Lana licking the edge of the paper with exaggerated slowness, Crystal heckling her craftsmanship, Sam muttering about “health and safety” like she was quoting scripture. Even Kori, who had been leaning back, looking at the fire like it was telling her secrets, cracked a small smirk.

Lana sparked the joint with a twist of her lighter, the flame bright enough to paint everyone’s faces in flickering orange. She inhaled deep, like she was auditioning for a PSA, then exhaled a slow ribbon of smoke toward the stars.

She passed it to Crystal, who passed it to Sam (who hesitated, sighed, and took a begrudging hit). Jewels took it next, holding it out to Susie with two fingers and a raised brow. Susie bit her lip, accepted, and after a delicate drag, dissolved into a cough that had Jewels patting her back, laughing.

When it got to Lydia, she accepted it like she’d been handed the ceremonial torch at the Olympics. “So… is this, like, vintage? Or farm-to-table?”

“It’s camp-to-camp,” Lana said.

Lydia took a careful inhale, immediately regretted it, and tried to disguise her cough as a laugh. It didn’t work. “Smooth,” she rasped.

Kori’s voice slid in from beside her. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

“I’m mysterious,” Lydia said, passing it on.

“Sure you are, babe.” Kori said with that tiny, knowing smile.

The joint made its way around again, the fire’s warmth mingling with the haze curling above them. Conversation loosened. Laughter grew rounder. The air felt just a touch thicker, the stars a little closer, the night slipping its arm around the whole group.

“Okay,” Crystal said, clapping her hands once. “Since we’re in a cliché, we might as well lean in.”

“Explain.” Sam said, already suspicious.

“Ghost stories.” Crystal said, delighted.

“Groundbreaking.” Lana deadpanned. “Next you’ll suggest ‘Light as a Feather, Stiff as a Board’ and summon the devil.”

“We do that on Wednesdays.” Jewels filled Susie in.

“It is Wednesday,” Susie said, clearly amused.

“There’s an old story about this camp,” Crystal started, voice lowering without becoming cheesy. “One of those things you hear on the first night and laugh off, and then, you know…”

“Then the murderous lumberjack appears with a chainsaw,” Sam said.

“Murderous lumberjacks use axes,” Lydia said automatically. “Chainsaws are loud and messy. They’re for hubris and sequels.”

Kori glanced at her, amused. “You must be fun at midnight screenings.”

“She’s a goblin at midnight screenings,” Susie said fondly. “She yells at the screen like it owes her money.”

“Anyway,” Crystal said, pleased. “The story is older than us. Older than the cabins. They say there used to be a dock that went farther into the lake, all the way past the reeds. One summer, two girls snuck out after curfew to swim. It was hot, like, August pressing a hand to your throat hot, and the water was so dark they just jumped in.”

Sam made spooky fingers at the firelight. “Boo.”

“When they came up,” Crystal said, “one of them turned to say something and the other was just… gone. No splash. No sound. Just the sound of all the crickets stopping at once. The girl swam for shore, but the dock was farther than it looked. Her legs cramped. Something brushed her ankle. Cold and slimy. She screamed and screamed until her throat hurt. By the time she hauled herself up, there were bruises on her calves like handprints.”

Lana made a show of shivering. “Argh, that’s creepy.”

“They never found the other girl,” Crystal finished, tossing a twig into the fire. “But sometimes, late, you can see ripples. And if you step on the wrong plank at the edge of the dock…” She paused. “…it knocks back.”

“Bad carpentry,” Lydia said, because humour was a shield and she liked shields. Still, something tightened between her shoulder blades. A thread tugged toward the black triangle of water beyond the trees.

Kori’s voice skimmed low. “The dock was replaced. Twice.”

“That’s because Crystal and Lana jumped off it trying to do synchronized cannonballs and snapped the corner.” Sam said.

“That was art!” Lana said.

Jewels perked up. “My turn. This one’s called ‘The Boyfriend Who Said He Loved Me and I Believed Him; A Comedy.’”

Kori choked on nothing.

Jewels went on, “He told me he was allergic to commitment. I told him I was allergic to stupid. He asked if that was a real allergy. I said only if he existed.”

“That’s not a ghost story,” Sam said.

“It is,” Jewels said thoughtfully. “He ghosted me.”

Everyone groaned which eventually turned to laughter. The fire spit as if laughing, too, in its own language. Lydia glanced at Kori and found Kori already looking back. Something like a question passed between them.

Kori lifted one shoulder. “Mine’s not a story.” She poked a coal with a stick, like she was tidying the fire. “It’s more like a feeling. You ever stay somewhere so many summers that your feet know the path before you do? You walk to the dock or the mess hall and your body is already there. It can be… nice. But sometimes you wonder if the place remembers you, too. If it’ll notice when you’re not here anymore.”

“That’s haunting,” Lana said, soft for once.

“It’s just camp,” Kori said, but her smile didn’t quite match the words. Lydia held the image of a place remembering a person the way a person remembers a place. It felt important.

Crystal, perhaps sensing the mood veering toward introspection, clapped again. “Okay! Ritual time.”

“Vodka shots?” Lana said, hopefully.

“Close,” Crystal said. She stood, dragging her hoodie sleeves down over her hands. “First night fire ritual. You throw something in, you tell the fire a secret or a wish. Then the fire keeps it. It’s stupid,” she added quickly, to force everyone to relax. “But we always do it. No mocking. Even if someone says, like, ‘I wish to kiss the moon.’”

“I would never kiss the moon,” Jewels said. “She’s flaky.”

“She’s been through phases,” Susie said, then immediately covered her face. “I’m so sorry for that joke.” Jewels giggled and lightly pushed her shoulder.

Crystal crouched and pulled a few small pebbles from the dirt. “If you don’t have a trinket, you can use a rock. Or a stick. Or a metaphor.” She tossed a pebble in. The fire accepted it with a polite hiss. “I wish,” she said, louder than necessary, “to not get poison ivy on my left butt cheek this year.”

“Left,” Lana repeated, impressed. “Very specific.”

“Your turn,” Crystal said, pointing the pebble bag at Lana.

Lana took one, rolling it between her fingers like a coin trick. “I wish to make it through this summer without crying in a supply closet about scheduling.” She paused. “More than three times.”

“Ambitious.” Sam said.

Sam chose a rock and popped it like a pill into the flames. “I wish to actually sleep more than four hours a night during Colour War.”

“Delusional.” Lana said.

Jewels stood, fished in her shorts pocket, and produced the tiny plastic ring from a candy machine, translucent blue. She considered it like it had a backstory, then threw it in with a flick that made the fire gulp.

“I wish,” Jewels said, voice nowhere near as flippant as her hands, “for something that feels like a movie and stays after the credits.”

Susie’s cheeks warmed like she’d leaned too close to the fire. She bent, picked up a feather and carefully held it in both hands.

“I wish,” Susie said, looking at the feather and then, delicately, at Jewels, “for someone who makes me brave.” She hesitated, then tossed the feather. It rose on heat and vanished.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward; it was soft and heavy, like a blanket everyone agreed to share. Maybe it was the weed. Lydia swallowed around a strange thickness in her throat. The ritual was silly, yes, a camp thing, a nostalgia machine. But people were putting real things into it, and the fire, stupidly, felt like it was taking them seriously.

“Your turn,” Crystal said, looking at Lydia with a cat’s curiosity.

Lydia’s brain threw confetti and nonsense. If she had to tell a real secret, it would crack everything open. She was from nowhere and somewhere, in a van with girls she knew and didn’t, in a year that felt wrong if she touched it too hard. So she did what she did best… She lied.

She picked up a pebble. “I wish,” she said, steady, “to stop pretending I don’t care about things, because it would be nice to just… care and not feel like I’ve conceded a battle. Also, I’d like better snacks.”

It was nothing and it was true. The pebble clicked into the fire.

Kori had been quiet, hands laced, mouth thinking. Now she stood, brushed ash from her shorts, and reached into the pocket for- what? A coin? A secret compass? She came up with a bent safety pin.

“Fashion icon,” Jewels whispered, approving.

Kori held the pin up so it flashed, then tossed it in. The hiss smoothed into a sound like someone breathing out.

“I wish,” Kori said, not looking at anyone, “to be the person I am here when I’m not here.”

Lydia’s brain would have pondered on that statement a bit more if it weren’t for the weed blurring her thoughts.

“I used to wish for a horse,” Lana said helpfully.

“You can still wish for a horse,” Sam said. “Diversify your portfolio.”

They went around until even the reluctant had given something to the fire. A shoelace aglet, a candy wrapper ribboned into a bow, a torn page from the back of a notebook with nothing written on it but a doodle of a bear that looked suspiciously like a frog. Each wish loosened the group, realigned the orbit. Lydia felt herself slotting into a pattern she hadn’t expected to want.

After the ritual, the high faded into the kind of comfortable silence that only happens when no one needs to perform. Bodies rearranged, pairs and trios forming naturally like bubbles, popping, reforming. Sam lay flat on the grass, the world tilting into her eyes. Lana and Crystal tried to tell the same story at once three times and failed, laughing too hard to finish. Jewels leaned into Susie, murmuring something that made Susie’s laugh go breathy.

Kori nudged Lydia’s shoulder with her own. “Walk?”

“Sure,” Lydia said, as if she hadn’t been mentally begging for a minute alone and dreading it at the same time.

They drifted to the edge of the firelight, where the night thickened and the stars revealed their pinprick teeth. The lake was a quiet, black plate. Crickets pulled a zipper up the dark. Somewhere back at the circle, Crystal cackled, and Lana said, “No, because if you think about it-“ and then didn’t finish.

“You okay?” Kori asked after a minute, like she meant the broad, existential question and also whether Lydia had burnt her tongue.

“I’m weird,” Lydia said. “But that’s baseline.” She glanced sideways. “Your wish was… Cool.”

Kori huffed a tiny laugh. “It was corny.”

“I’m pro corn,” Lydia said. “I think it takes guts to say something true out loud and not immediately set it on fire with sarcasm.”

“Is that your strategy?” Kori asked. “Sarcasm as a flame retardant?”

“It’s a lifestyle brand,” Lydia said, then quieter, “It’s easier to be the person who doesn’t care. People can’t take anything from you if you don’t care.”

Kori didn’t do the thing where she went soft and pitying. She did the thing where she understood and kept it private. “They can give you things, though,” she said. “If you do.”

“That’s the scam,” Lydia said. “The whole loving and being loved Ponzi scheme.”

Kori bumped her shoulder again. “You’re a lot,” she said, and it sounded like affection.

“You’re very blasé for someone who basically rescued my marshmallow,” Lydia said. “That was an intimate act.”

“It was,” Kori said, mouth tilting. “We’re bonded now.”

Heat prickled Lydia’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire. “I’ll put you on my emergency contact list. ‘In case of marshmallow emergency, call Kori.’”

“I’ll answer.” Kori said, and Lydia’s heart did a flip.

They stood like that, side by side, looking out. The dock was a silhouette. Lydia thought about Crystal’s story and the way the fire sounded like breathing. The night pressed around them, not menacing, just present.

“I like it here.” Lydia said, surprised to hear it leave her mouth.

Kori nodded. “Me too.” A pause. “Even when it’s boring. Even when it’s dramatic. Even when I think about…” She cut herself off, a neat slice. “I don’t know, I’m high.” Kori sighed.

They turned back before the dark could start pretending to be something else. Back at the fire, the group had rearranged again. Jewels was teaching Susie how to twirl a stick between her fingers. Susie’s tongue poked out in concentration. Jewels watched her as if Susie was doing magic. When Susie finally managed one, two, three smooth twirls, Jewels clapped like an idiot and Susie’s whole face lit up.

“I hate them,” Lydia said, warmth flooding her voice.

“You love them.” Kori said.

“Shut up.” Lydia said. She was happy for her friend. Surprised, jealous even, but happy.

Crystal had discovered the art of toasting Starbursts over the fire. “Listen, this is the move,” she declared, poking a pink one that had turned glossy. “Gooey on the inside, blistered on the outside, like my personality.”

Sam sat up. “That’s actually good,” she said, astonished. “You’re a genius.”

“I have layers.” Crystal said.

They shared the flaming candy around, passing the skewer like a ceremonial spear. Lydia took a bite and nearly moaned. “Okay, fine. I’ll join your cult.”

“We meet on Wednesdays,” Jewels said again.

“Can I?” Susie said, hesitating only long enough to be polite. Jewels handed her the next pink without making a show of it. Their fingers touched intentionally. Susie bit her lip; Jewels tilted her head like, yes, that.

Lydia tried not to catch Kori catching Lydia watching Susie and Jewels. It was a losing battle. Kori didn’t tease. She just looked like she understood.

As the fire slid from roaring to murmuring, stories faded into the kind of circling conversations that happen only when no one is checking a clock. The girls told ridiculous counsellor tales. The time Lana convinced an entire bunk that the mess hall was haunted by a lunch lady named Mabel who cried over spilled milk; the time Sam confiscated a contraband Tamagotchi and felt so bad about stopping it from sleeping that she put it under a tiny blanket and whispered, “Sorry.” Jewels described a talent show where she’d lip synced to “Sweet Dreams” while wearing a pillowcase as a wig.

At some point, the marshmallow bag was just a limp ghost and the graham crackers were dust. The fire lay down on itself, red bellies exposed, the occasional log sighing as it shifted. People stretched, blinked slow. Every once in a while, a burst of laughter, quick and bright. The night deepened around them.

From the trees, a crack. Every head ticked up, then relaxed as a raccoon toddled into view, audacious as a king, and regarded them like he was evaluating tip jars.

“Sir,” Lana said. “We have nothing for you.”

The raccoon trundled closer, checked the graham graveyard, and made a sound that was, unmistakably, deeply judgmental. Then it left, tail wobbling.

“Rude,” Crystal said, wounded.

“Even the wildlife’s a critic.” Kori murmured.

They started stacking trash into a bag, rustles and small commands. Lydia stood, legs tingling with pins and needles, and bent toward the fire for one last warm stroke of heat. Ash smelled like bacon and rain and something else she couldn’t name. It put her in mind of the ritual again. The wish, the fire keeping it. She pictured all their little offerings in there, alchemized into something soft and glowing. It felt like a promise to a future she couldn’t see yet.

As they moved, Lydia and Kori ended up collecting charred sticks in tandem. Their hands brushed once, twice, the accidental-on-purpose type that says what words shouldn’t. Kori didn’t pull away. Lydia didn’t either.

“Hey,” Crystal said, voice normal, not performative. “You did good tonight, new girl.”

Lydia blinked. “At what?”

“At being here,” Crystal said, like it was a skill. “It’s not easy for everyone.”

“It’s not easy for anyone,” Kori said.

Crystal nodded, satisfied by this piece of wisdom, and went to harass Lana about leaving a sticky mess.

Susie drifted over, cheeks pink from heat and other things. “You okay?” she asked.

“I am,” Lydia realized in real time. “I actually am.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Lydia?” Susie asked lightly, and then, lower, “I’m glad.”

Jewels looped an arm around Susie’s waist like gravity. “We heading back?” she asked the group at large.

“Yeah,” Sam said, standing with a groan. “My back is fucking killing me.”

They doused the fire properly, hissing it to sleep, poking holes in its glow until only barely breathing embers remained, like eyes closing. The night leaped in as the light retreated, a cool hand against overheated skin. Lydia felt the loss of warmth and wanted it back immediately.

They gathered their trash and their sticks, their abandoned shoes and their secrets. Someone, Kori, touched Lydia’s elbow in the kind of small guidance that meant you don’t have to walk alone.

As they started back toward the cabins, the path narrowed into a tunnel of trees. The hush shifted. Lydia glanced sideways at the lake and caught a ripple near the dock, a single circle expanding, then another. She told herself it was a fish. It was a fish. It could be a fish. The crickets paused; the night inhaled. Farther down the trail, a tiny wind chime tinkled where there was no wind.

“Hey,” Kori said, low and normal and Lydia didn’t know if it was hey look or hey it’s okay or hey I’m here or hey I’m going to murder you now.

They kept walking. The fire’s last warmth still clung to Lydia’s skin, the sugar still loud in her blood. Behind them, the embers watched until they didn’t. Ahead, the cabins, their porch lights cutting soft triangles into the dark.

Lydia didn’t know yet how much this night would anchor her when things got sharp. She didn’t know that she’d come back to it the way you come back to a song that knows your name. She didn’t know a lot of things. What year it was. But she knew this, it mattered to have one bright, stupid, beautiful night where girls told secrets to a fire and the fire kept them. Where wishes were cheap and brave. Where someone saved your marshmallow. Where your best friend laughed like a soft bell with a girl who looked at her like you always wanted someone to look at you.

“Tomorrow,” Crystal was saying ahead of them, authoritative, “we make friendship bracelets.”

“We are not children.” Sam said.

“We are,” Lana said. “String the beads, mother.”

“Maybe we can make anklets.” Jewels offered.

Kori walked close enough that Lydia could feel the heat of her, even without a fire. Their arms brushed. Nothing in the world exploded. That, somehow, felt like the best part.

Behind them, the lake settled. The dock did not knock back. Not tonight.

And if, as they reached the porch of their cabin, a whisper of cold moved across Lydia’s ankles like fingers and made her pause, she didn’t call out “Who’s there?” because she had rules, and she planned on surviving. She just looked over her shoulder into the dark, squared herself with the warm rectangle of the open door, and went inside with the others, bringing the smell of smoke, weed and sugar with her like a shield.

Chapter Text

Lydia could feel Kori’s breath on her neck. Warm. Measured. The kind of breath that made you hyper-aware of every inch of your own skin.

They were lying on the narrow camp bed, side by side, the blanket tangled low around their hips. Lydia had no idea when the inches between them had disappeared. One minute, there’d been conversation, about the scratchy wool blankets, about Sam’s awful snoring, and the next, their legs had shifted just enough to touch.

She told herself not to overthink it. Then immediately overthought it.

Never, ever, under any circumstances have sex.

In the movies, the second you so much as unbutton your shirt, the killer’s lurking outside with a machete. This? This was exactly how girls like her ended up impaled in grainy VHS glory. Lydia thought maybe she needed to book a couple of extra therapy sessions a week considering she was more than willing to give up her entire life for one night with Kori King.

Kori’s hand twitched against the mattress, her knuckles brushing Lydia’s arm. So light Lydia almost wasn’t sure it happened. She glanced over. Kori was already watching her, head tilted like she was cataloguing a particularly interesting insect.

“You always this jumpy?” Kori murmured.

“I’m not jumpy.” Lydia lied.

Kori’s mouth curved into that small, dangerous smile. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The cabin felt quieter than it should have. Outside, the wind hissed through the trees, the occasional laughter from the firepit drifting in. Inside, there was only the sound of their breathing and Lydia’s pulse hammering in her ears.

“You’re staring,” Kori said after a moment, voice lazy but eyes sharp.

“You’re… right there,” Lydia said, which wasn’t an answer and they both knew it.

She had no idea how she’d gotten into this situation. She was beginning to lean into the idea that she’d died and gone to heaven.

Kori shifted closer, her thigh pressing fully against Lydia’s now. Her scent was warm, coconut shampoo and woodsmoke, and it was dizzying. She reached up, brushing a piece of hair from Lydia’s face, fingertips grazing her cheekbone like she was testing the boundaries of what she could get away with.

Lydia’s breath caught. “Kori…”

“Yeah?”

“This is… a bad idea.”

“Probably.” Kori’s smile deepened. “So?”

That single syllable snapped something in Lydia.

She could’ve pulled away. She could’ve made a joke. Instead, she stayed perfectly still as Kori leaned in, slow enough for Lydia to feel every fraction of the distance closing between them. Their lips touched, tentative for a heartbeat, then firmer, hotter, until Lydia’s head spun.

Her hands found Kori’s waist, the fabric of her shirt thin under her palms. Kori shifted, half draping herself over Lydia, their legs tangling. The kiss deepened, grew hungrier, and Lydia’s careful mental list of reasons to stop dissolved like sugar in heat.

Kori’s mouth wandered along her jaw, down the slope of her neck and Lydia’s fingers curled in the sheets to keep from pulling her closer too quickly. She was in dangerous territory now, both in horror movie terms and in the “what this means for her life” sense.

Kori pulled away suddenly.

“Help…” Kori whispered against her skin.

Lydia froze. “What?”

Kori pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, expression smooth and unreadable. “What?” she echoed, all innocence.

“You just said-“

“I didn’t say anything.”

There was no trace of humour in her voice now, but before Lydia could push, Kori kissed her again. Harder, more urgent, like she was determined to overwrite the moment entirely.

The urgency pulled Lydia under. She kissed back, heat blooming low in her stomach, one hand sliding up the warm plane of Kori’s back.

Lydia wanted to stop. She wanted to keep going. She wanted to ask about the weird “help” that didn’t fit anywhere in this scene. But Kori’s mouth was persuasive, and Lydia had never been good at winning arguments with herself.

Kori’s hand slipped under her shirt, palm splayed against her skin. Lydia gasped, not entirely from surprise. She arched into the touch before her brain could catch up.

‘Fuck it.’ Was the only thought Lydia could muster.

*

The camp was finally quiet.

Sunday night, the night before the kids arrived, was supposed to be sacred. The one last pocket of peace before all hell broke loose Monday morning. But apparently the senior counsellors hadn’t gotten the memo. There’d been yet another bonfire, the third in a row, complete with Lana’s “famous” joint rotation and Crystal’s questionable acoustic guitar covers. Lydia and Susie had seemed to effortlessly slot in to this ritual.

Now it was past midnight, their clothes smelling faintly of smoke and weed, eyes heavy from the kind of fatigue that came from both THC and pretending to like people (in Lydia’s case).

“I think I’ve hit my peak.” Susie said as they trudged up the path toward the lunch room. “If I have to laugh at one more of Sam’s stories about high school lacrosse…”

“You’ll what?” Lydia interrupted. “Pass out mid-giggle? Choke on a Dorito?”

“Exactly.”

They were walking shoulder to shoulder, hoodies pulled tight against the crisp night air. Most of the cabins were dark. The path lamps flickered, each pool of light barely strong enough to reveal the one ahead. Somewhere out on the lake, a buoy clanged in the wind, eerie in the otherwise dead silent camp.

“So…” Lydia said, casual as she could manage, “you and Jewels…?”

Susie groaned. “Oh my god.”

“Just saying, I’ve seen the way you look at her. And the way she looks at you.”

“She doesn’t look at me.”

“She definitely does.” Lydia smirked. “You guys are like, one unplanned sleepover away from U-Hauling.”

Susie shoved her, laughing. “Shut up.”

“I’m just trying to get the gossip before the kids show up and we lose all our free time to explaining the buddy system and handing out popsicle sticks for arts and crafts. Which I’m still fucking dreading thanks so much for asking.”

“You’re annoying when you’re high,” Susie muttered, though she was smiling.

They were still grinning when it happened.

A noise. A faint, metallic clink, like a pan tipping over on a counter. Both of them stopped.

“Kitchen ghost.” Susie whispered.

“Mm. Or, you know… murderer.”

Susie rolled her eyes. “Everything’s a horror movie to you.”

“That’s because it is a horror movie,” Lydia said, but the truth was, her chest had gone tight. Something about the air here, too still, too sharp, was wrong. She glanced toward the lunch room door. The security light above it was buzzing faintly, casting a pale yellow cone over the steps.

The smell hit next. Metallic. Sour. Something that didn’t belong in the nostalgic scent mix of woodsmoke and lake water.

“Do you smell…”

“Yes,” Susie said quickly. “Let’s just… grab snacks and go.”

Lydia pushed open the door. The lunch room was dim, lit by a single overhead bulb that flickered every few seconds. The buzz of the light and the faint hum of the fridge were the only sounds.

And then she saw it.

Michelle Visage.

The camp’s lunch lady, always dripping in pearls and eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man, was sprawled on the floor between the serving counter and the walk in fridge. Her eyes were wide, staring at nothing. Her necklace had snapped, scattering pearls across the tiles like tiny white teeth. A smear of deep red traced from the counter to where she lay, her lipstick smudged grotesquely over her cheek.

One of her high heels was missing. The other was still on her foot, twisted at an angle that made Lydia’s stomach lurch.

Susie made a small, choked noise and clamped her hands over her mouth.

“Don’t scream,” Lydia hissed, grabbing her wrist. She tugged her back toward the door. “If the killer’s still here-“

A sound froze them both.

From inside the walk-in fridge came a faint, deliberate scrape. Something dragging across the floor.

They backed up until they were outside, Lydia pulling the door shut behind them as quietly as she could. Neither of them spoke as they hurried back toward the cabins, hearts hammering.

Tomorrow morning, the campers would arrive. And tonight, someone was fucking dead.

*

The door banged open.

They broke apart like guilty teenagers in a bad teen movie. Sam stood in the doorway, flashlight in hand, eyebrow arched to the ceiling.

“Lana’s looking for you,” she said to Kori, tone flat.

Kori didn’t even blink. “Tell her I’m busy.”

“With what?” Sam’s gaze flicked between them. “There’s only so much you can blame on drugs before people think you’re actually, you know, actual dyk-“

“Sam. Please, I’ll be out in a sec just fuck off.” Kori said, exasperated and pulling away from Lydia.

Sam muttered something about “unbelievable” and stepped back out, letting the door slam shut behind her.

Kori looked at Lydia, the heat still there but now tempered with something like amusement. “Where were we?”

Lydia swallowed hard, still half dazed. “I think you have somewhere to be.”

“Maybe later,” Kori said, and then she was gone, slipping out into the night like nothing had happened.

Lydia lay there, staring at the ceiling, her lips tingling and her mind replaying every second on a loop.

The voice in her head, the one that loved horror movies a little too much, finally spoke up.

‘You’re in so much trouble.’

Chapter Text

The girls’ bathroom smelled like strawberry body spray, wet tile, and thick, muggy dirt you can only get from a camp bathroom.

Crystal had seized the best shower stall (third from the left; optimal water pressure; minimal curtain mildew; superior selfie lighting) and now stood at the counter in a short pink towel, studying herself with the air of a head judge and the star contestant. Her hair hung in damp ropes down her back, glossy as seal fur. Steam softened the edges of the fluorescent lights until even the mirror had the decency to blur her pores.

“God, you’re perfect,” she told her reflection, turning side to side to admire her hourglass figure.

The curling iron on the counter clicked as its coil heated, red indicator light blooming like a tiny devil’s eye. Somewhere in the stalls, a stray drip fattened and dropped with an echoing plop. The camp had that night-before energy- messy, giddy, a little too quiet between gusts of leftover laughter from the cabins outside. The kids arrived in the morning, which meant tonight the counsellors had acted like seniors on prom night (again). Bonfire, weed, a hundred whispered secrets. Crystal had bowed out early. Smoke made her hair smell like a campfire and she honestly just needed a break. This was her first year as head counsellor and she needed to be on her best game in the morning.

She dabbed a glossy strawberry overnight lip mask on her mouth. Pursed. “Kissable. Dangerous. A public service.” God, she was beautiful.

Plop.

She flicked her eyes at the stalls. “Susie?” She called out for her roommate.

Silence. The fluorescent hum deepened, then settled back into the white noise buzz that made the bathroom feel like the inside of a television. Crystal primed the iron with a test clamp and twirled the cord around her finger, bored.

A stall door creaked. Just a breath. Just one hinge remembering it was alive.

Crystal rolled her eyes so hard she saw God. “Okay, argh this is so not funny.”

No answer. The mirror showed a row of blank stall doors, shadows like kneeling girls under them. It always looked like that, the kind of trick your brain played when you wanted to scare yourself. She propped a hip against the counter, and started humming a Madonna hook she didn’t know all the words to. Like a… like a… whatever.

The curling iron ticked, hotter. A faint thread of heat rose off the barrel. She lifted a section of hair, wrapped it tight and counted down.

The light over the sinks flickered.

She froze, eyes locked with herself in the mirror. The reflection was slightly… off. a lag, or a joke of the fluorescent lights. When the lights steadied, Crystal let out the breath she’d been holding and laughed.

“Cute.” she said to no one. “Truly cinema.”

Behind her, somewhere in the row of stalls, a lock slid shut with a slow, deliberate click.

Crystal’s head tilted. “Susie? Jewels? Lana?” She grinned at the mirror. “If this is a prank I’m not scared, assholes.”

No one answered. That was fine. Crystal was not scared.

She set the curling iron down. The red light glowed steady. The cord snaked toward the outlet near the floor. She bent to flick stray glitter from her makeup bag.

In the mirror, a shape stood behind her. Not a person, not exactly. Dark coat and obscured face. But the face almost wasn’t a face- smooth, blank, the suggestion of eyes where no eyes were. It could have been a trick of steam but then it stepped forward.

Crystal screamed as the figure bolted towards her. A hard fist in her curled hair, a wrenching yank that dragged her back so hard she saw stars. She clawed it up towards the figure, fury hotter than embarrassment.

“Let go! What the fuck!” Her hand shot back and found a shoulder slick as plastic. Her nails skidded. “Ow! stop- my hair!”

Her spine hit the counter. The edge bit into the small of her back. She grabbed the curling iron by instinct, the way you seize the nearest thing at a party when a fight breaks out. She swung. The barrel smacked something solid with a hiss; the smell of hot plastic bloomed.

The figure recoiled. For a half-second the fist in her hair loosened, and she used it: stamped down with her heel, connected with a shin, bolted for the door.

She made it three steps. The cord around her ankle yanked tight.

Crystal pitched forward. Her knee cracked against tile; pain flared cold and nauseating. She hit the floor hard on her palms. The figure stepped into her periphery.

“Please,” Crystal panted. “Look, whatever this is, I have money, I can give you lots of money!”

The cord snicked tight around her ankle. She looked down, incredulous. The iron’s plug jutted like a little white tooth from the outlet, and the cord… God, it was around her, two loops tight, and the figure’s gloved hand had already found the end. A pull. A drag. Crystal felt her body skid on the slick tile.

“No ,no, NO!” She kicked with her free leg and connected again. The figure responded by stepping neatly over her, planting a heavy weight on the inside of her knee. Pain flashed lightning bright. Her knee buckled sideways against the tile. She screamed, high and ragged, and then bit it off, fury pooling with the terror.

“Get off me!” She rolled, scrabbling. Her fingers closed around the metal wastebasket by the sinks. She flung it. It clanged off the figure’s shoulder and spun away.

The figure’s answer was patience. They didn’t talk. They never even breathed in a way she could hear. The cord tightened one notch more. The iron itself kissed the back of her calf. The smell of singeing skin sliced through the strawberry sweetness.

Crystal saw red. The world narrowed to that point of heat. Her body bucked; her hands slipped. She was strong. She’d always been strong. There was a future version of this where she started with ‘you messed with the wrong bitch’ and ended covered in someone else’s blood. She had that fierce, ridiculous conviction and still the figure worked without hurry, holding her leg down as he pressed the iron into bare flesh.

He dragged her toward the stalls.

“No,” she croaked. “Help!” It was then she realised the harsh reality. That no one close enough to hear, no one sober enough to care, the bathroom just a little too far away from the music still blasting at the bonfire. She swallowed metal and her pride. “Please. Please don’t.”

The figure let go of the cord. For a split second relief shivered through her.

Then gloved hands slid under her shoulders.

She was lifted like a kid, like she weighed nothing, and carried. Her feet thudded uselessly against the floor. The steam and fluorescent glare turned to a blur of shadow and ceramic as she was hauled into the third stall from the left. The good stall. Her stall. The thought was ridiculous in its smallness. Then she was dropped.

Her tailbone cracked the tile lip of the base. Breath exploded from her lungs in a sob that tasted like pennies.

The stall door swung shut. The lock slid with that slow, click again.

“Why?” she whispered, and hated that the word sounded like a child’s. “What do you want?”

No answer. Just a hand snaking out — and grabbing the shower curtain.

Rip.

The curtain tore down in a single, furious sound. Hooks sprang, pinged the tile, skittered like beetles. The figure twisted the vinyl; it creaked.

“Please,” she said again, harder now, iron in it. “Listen to me. I will ruin you.”

The figure didn’t blink. Couldn’t, maybe. She tried to stand, and her knee screamed objection. She slid, bumped the toilet, caught herself on the paper dispenser, which tore free and smacked the floor with a cardboard moan. The figure held the iron in one hand.

The barrel touched her skin again, this time her upper arm, just for a second, a molten kiss that blistered instantly. Crystal’s scream shattered into hitching sobs. She punched at the figure’s thigh, her nails useless against the slick material. She kicked again; her heel hit nothing.

“Stop, stop, STOP!” She reached for the iron, got the cord instead, yanked. It tugged the figure’s hand; the barrel skated and kissed the side of her neck, where the skin was thin and tender. Pain detonated. She saw white. The smell of herself burning tipped her stomach.

The figure loosened the cord, as if humouring her, then gripped it tight, holding it so close to Crystal’s face she could feel the heat coming off in waves. Crystal’s last thoughts interrupted by the searing heat of her once prized possession.

Chapter Text

Lydia was halfway to her locker when she spotted them. The glittery, she demons otherwise known as Kori King and her entourage.

They weren’t even trying to be subtle today. Jewels, Crystal, and Lana fanned out like runway models. Kori strolled in the middle, her dark hair bouncing in a way that said, I wake up like this and you don’t. She wore a cheer jacket over a pleated skirt that was definitely against dress code, and a smile on her face reserved solely for prom queens or used car salesmen.

“Nice boots, Lydia.” Kori called, her voice loud enough to bounce off the lockers. “Did you find them in the dumpster behind Hot Topic?” The girls laughed.

Lydia kept walking, eyes forward, pretending she didn’t hear. Her stomach tightened anyway.

Kori wasn’t done. “Hey! Lydia!” She took a few long strides to catch up, the others following like satellites in orbit. “Don’t be rude. I’m complimenting your… whole thing. The boots. The… eyeliner that looks like you cried in the bathroom before first period.”

“She probably did.” Crystal muttered, and Lana giggled behind her hand.

Lydia’s fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. Don’t give them the satisfaction. That was the rule. They were sharks; blood in the water only made them hungrier.

Kori leaned closer, her perfume an expensive vanilla that somehow made Lydia feel cheap. “You know what I like about you, Lydia? You’re like… a background character. I could walk past you every day for four years and still not remember your name.”

It was meant to be the kill shot. The others grinned like hyenas over fresh meat.

Lydia’s mouth was dry, but she forced herself to meet Kori’s gaze. “That’s funny. Because you’ve called my name like 5 times in the past 2 minutes. It kinda seems like my name is on your mind more often than you want it to be.”

For half a second, something flickered in Kori’s eyes, before she smirked again. “Cute. You should try stand up comedy. I would definitely be sat. Oh wait, I wouldn’t pay money to laugh at you when I can just do that for free.”

They swept past her in a cloud of hairspray and self satisfaction, leaving Lydia with her heart pounding in her ears and a sour taste on her tongue.

*

The scissors in Lydia’s hand made clean little ‘snick’ sounds as she trimmed the edges of a magazine photo. The rest of the room was full of the low buzz of conversation, but from across the table came the one sound she couldn’t block out. Kori’s laugh.

“You better hide those,” Kori said, nodding at the scissors. “Wouldn’t want the guidance counsellor to do another locker check.”

Sam smirked. “Yeah, wow she’s really good with those scissors. I guess all that practice on her wrists paid off.”

They both giggled.

Kori leaned back in her chair, eyes glittering. “Seriously though, Lydia, is this a cry for help? Do you want us to save you?”

Lydia kept her head down, cutting along the curve of a model’s face.

Sam tipped her chin toward Lydia’s black hoodie. “Careful, Kori. Don’t get too close I don’t think that’s the only scissoring Miss Butthole wants to do.”

Lydia looked up with her red rimmed eyes. She saw Kori roll her eyes and shake her head like Sam’s joke was just too good.

“You just hate me for my originality.” She snapped, hating the slight delusion she was potentially displaying. “Just cause I’m not like you guys. You’re all the fucking same just cookie cutter-“ The two girls bursted out laughing and Lydia had well and truly lost the room.

She hated them. She hated that they hated her. And she hated that she cared so much about that.

*

The camp was quiet in the early light, the air still cool enough to feel clean in her lungs. Dew clung to the grass, and the lake was smooth as glass, catching the soft pinks and golds of sunrise. Lydia padded along the dirt path in her sneakers, hands stuffed in her hoodie pocket, eyes scanning everything like she was casing the joint. Which… She absolutely was.

She’d already found three decent hiding spots. Behind the shed near the archery range, under the warped canoe rack, and a thicket of brush by the boathouse that would swallow a person whole. A few more and she’d have a full Final Girl survival map.

She rounded a bend near the mess hall when movement caught her eye, a flash of red sports bra, long legs, and a dark ponytail. Kori King, jogging, earbuds in, skin glowing with that unfair morning person energy.

Kori slowed when she saw her, tugging one earbud out. “What are you doing up this early? I figured you’d be sleeping off last night’s smoke cloud.”

“Recon,” Lydia said, keeping her voice casual. “Gotta know the lay of the land. In case of… you know. Bears. Or murderers.”

Kori grinned, dimples deep. “Right. Because a homicidal maniac is going to see you and think, ‘Oh no, she knows about the canoe rack, better not.’”

“Exactly.” Lydia smirked. “Knowledge is power.”

Kori shook her head, still smiling. “You’re weird.”

“I get that a lot.”

They walked side by side for a stretch. Kori jogging in place to keep her heart rate up, Lydia continuing her perimeter check.

“Hey,” Kori said after a beat, “last night… you were funny. Around the fire.”

Lydia blinked at her. Compliments from Kori King were not part of her known universe. “Thanks?”

Kori shrugged like it was nothing, but there was a warmth in her gaze that made Lydia’s chest tighten in an annoyingly familiar way. “I mean it.”

For a moment, Lydia forgot about escape routes and hiding spots. She just noticed the sunlight catching in Kori’s hair, the faint scent of her shampoo on the breeze.

Then Kori popped her other earbud back in, jogging backward a few steps. “Try not to get murdered before breakfast, okay?”

Lydia called after her, “No promises.”

*

The sun was beginning its slow drop toward the tree line, turning the lake into a sheet of hammered copper. Lydia stood at the shore, tossing pebbles in.

She’d been mentally mapping which parts of the dock would make the best choke points in a chase scene when footsteps crunched on the gravel path behind her.

“Thought you’d be napping,” Kori’s voice called.

Lydia glanced back. Kori was barefoot, hair damp, a rolled-up towel slung over one shoulder. Her tank top stuck to her skin in patches, catching the light.

“I don’t nap,” Lydia said. “That’s when they get you. One minute you’re drooling on a pillow, the next, boom! Machete to the face.”

Kori laughed, coming to stand beside her. “You seriously think about this stuff all the time?”

“Only if I’m awake. Which, again, is all the time.”

Kori bent to pick up a flat rock, sending it spinning over the water. It skipped five times before sinking.

“Show off,” Lydia muttered.

Kori grinned. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just good with my hands.”

Lydia’s eyebrows went up before she could stop them. Kori’s smirk deepened.

They threw a few more stones in silence before Lydia spoke again, her voice quieter this time. “You know… this is going to sound insane, but… I feel comfortable with you.”

And it was true. Lydia felt so at ease around Kori even in this crazy situation. She figured she should be suspicious of her character 180 or the fact she wasn’t suspicious at all. But in truth, she just really needed someone to talk to and she has deep down always wanted that to be Kori.

Kori glanced over, surprised but not mocking. “Yeah?”

Lydia shrugged, eyes on the lake. “Yeah. And that’s weird, because nothing about this feels right. It’s like… I woke up in some alternate universe. Or went back in time. And everything’s familiar but wrong. Off. Like it’s all been… rearranged.”

Kori was quiet for a long moment, then said, “I like this universe. At least in this one, you and I don’t hate each other.”

Had Lydia told this Kori about their rocky teenage relationship? Lydia risked a look at her, and Kori’s expression was open in a way Lydia didn’t remember seeing before.

“I like the friendship we’ve got here.” Kori added, softly.

Something in Lydia’s chest loosened. “Me too.”

Kori smiled, and for a moment it felt like the water, the light, and the air between them were all holding still. Then she straightened, slinging her towel over her shoulder.

“Come on, Final Girl,” she said, walking back toward camp. “Dinner’s probably ready.”

Lydia lingered at the water’s edge for a moment longer, wondering if maybe, just maybe, she didn’t want to wake up from this universe quite so fast.